


To have and to hold

by sweariwouldnt



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Coming Out, Flashbacks, Fluff, M/M, Wedding, closeting, coping with closeting, dealing with post-coming out, happy sappy stuff too, non-au, proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 08:21:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11755827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweariwouldnt/pseuds/sweariwouldnt
Summary: “Do you think maybe…. am I getting cold feet?”Louis doesn’t know what to say, instead he puts his book away and turns to his side, to face Harry. Harry looks at him from the side of his eye and then focuses his eyes back on the ceiling.“Do you think you are?”Harry makes a move resembling a shrug. “I don’t think I am.”“Do you not…want to get married?” Louis starts hesitantly, knowing that it’s probably even silly to ask but he has to.Harry turns to him, and takes his hand, kissing the knuckles. “I do, I do the most, it’s what I’ve wanted more than anything, I just… I don’t know. I feel… weird.”Harry has a habit of planning their wedding when he feels down. It's not ideal, really.





	1. The proposal.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LiveLaughLoveLarry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveLaughLoveLarry/gifts).



> Dear Annika, 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this story! Thank you for such an enticing prompt of Harry stress-planning a wedding - it sort of ran away from me (and perhpas took tidbits of a few other prompts alongside with it). I hope this story is worth of all the hard work and love you've put into organising this whole amazing exchange. Thank you x 
> 
> The biggest thank yous are deserved by two people:  
>  **Nina** for being the best cheerleader and checking up on me throughout my meltdowns.  
>  **Claudia** for being an absolute darling and offering last minute beta help and great suggestions, and literally making me tear up of gratitude and happiness. I thank you both tremendously x  
>  Finally, this fic happens in the past and in the future, and thus Jay and Robin are mentioned both 'here' and 'not here'. Happy to highlight bits if either concerns you x

Harry has loved Louis for a very long time – almost as long as he can remember. Despite being very much a romantic, he doesn’t quite believe in love at first sight; you do need to hear the person’s voice and a little bit about their thoughts before you can call it love. Infatuation at first sight? Yes, definitely. That’s what he had with Louis. Harry reckons it turned into love about fifteen minutes after he first saw Louis. 

He doesn’t think he’s loved Louis as profoundly, overwhelmingly, as he does right now, with absolute fearlessness. His mum once told him, when she met Robin, that true love is a state of complete fearlessness and Harry never quite got what the quote meant. He does now, though; he has absolute faith and trust in that nothing, absolutely nothing could ever come between the two of them. They’ve been to hell and back (still revisit it sometimes, like a couple of yoyos) but, and Harry is absolutely certain of this and he thinks Louis is, too; it has made them stronger. They’re ironclad, now. He’d thought they were before. Perhaps them still being together means they truly were. Their love had started like a tidal wave had swept over them; with such intensity and almost craziness of being so all over each other, being absolutely infatuated with each other. 

Harry remembers the beginning fondly. They were innocent idiot kids, ready to take over the world together. They had placed each other on pedestals and thought nothing could ever shake the base the other stood on. Harry had been so in love with Louis, taking turns being confused as to how this amazing person could ever have graced his life with his involvement, and basking in the firm knowledge that Louis absolutely adored him, too.

Harry’s a bit of a fretting soul. He feels nervous about stupid things and gets easily lost inside his own head, thinking of things that could go wrong and, on an especially bad day, all the ways he is wrong. He often finds it hard to let go and just enjoy the moment; there’s always a ‘what if’ or a ‘back when’ that he finds hard to let go. But with how intensely he was swept away with Louis, he stopped doing that – he lived in the moment, enjoying how Louis was so spontaneous and always made him laugh, feeling like there was not one worry in the world. They had fun all the time, and they were absolutely smitten with each other. 

Looking back, Harry does put some blame on himself, even still. Louis keeps telling him there’s no need, that they couldn’t have forecasted how quickly shit hit the fan (to put it nicely) and how fast their pedestals crumbled by the earthquakes raging around them, meant to crumble their core – and they did succeed. Harry’s not sure he agrees; he should’ve been warier, been prepared, not let his armour drop quite as freely as it did. He should’ve thought about the bad things that could happen, before they did. Maybe it would’ve been easier to deal with everything, then.

Except it wouldn’t, Harry knows this. There was no way he and Louis could’ve prepared to the abuse from their management with forcefully closeting them – they were just kids, neither could’ve even imagined this was something that could happen. And, as they’ve discussed later, they shouldn’t have prepared for it either – considering how they managed to cope, having had that honeymoon period and falling deeper in love with each other had been the foundation they built their relationship on. At least they got to enjoy for a little while, at first. Harry looks at the early days of being innocent and carefree and, maybe occasionally feels some sort of bitter remorse towards his naivety back then; but it wasn’t all in vain, as Louis says. They made it this far, so clearly they’d been doing something right all along.

The thing about earthquakes is that they hit your home from the outside, meaning to destroy. The cleverest, most horrific thing about them though, is that after they’ve made the bigger cracks, the visible ones, that one can see and acknowledge and try to repair, they have made a mole’s work in leaving invisible ones behind; ones that you only realise are there when the crack has widened almost beyond redemption.

Harry and Louis had found themselves on the opposite sides of such a sneaky crack, eventually. They had been on the same side about the closets, agreed to play along with what was required (well, they didn’t have a choice) and promised to each other to stick together, always. But somehow, they had different ways on coping with things, they took each other for granted in thinking the other knew and understood the way they coped with things, stopped explaining and started assuming, and suddenly they’d found themselves in an absolute hell of a crisis. And it wasn’t a crisis like the ones they were used to; they versus them evils. This was a Harryandlouis-crisis only; hitting them with less than three years on their relationship clock – when they were still, really, idiot kids. 

It had taken a lot, both in quality and quantity, of vulnerability and honesty, and tears, and relearning each other and forcing communication even about their own ugliest sides, but they had done it. They survived. It’s a few months in his life that Harry wants to both forget and never forget; how bad things had gotten, how they dealt with them and how they still work together, in making sure they never go back to what they went through again. Most of all, Harry wants to remember how incredibly strong and fearless they are now; they both know nothing can threaten them anymore. Hurt, yes. Shake, probably a little. But nothing will ever break them again. Because now they love each other fearlessly; they’ve seen and shown their ugliest sides, biggest fears, and made each other trust that even with all of those, this is still a forever-thing for them both. 

\---

“Hey you,” Harry croaks sleepily as he picks up the phone. “How are you even awake yet?” 

Louis’ low laugh comes through the line, making Harry feel warm and in need of a cuddle. “Still, you mean. It’s only midnight here.”

Louis is in LA for some dumb work thing. He’s definitely not in London, sleep warm next to Harry, waking up lazily and cuddling him. Not a great start to a day. 

“Alright,” Harry yawns. “Good morning, Lou.” 

“Good morning, love.” 

They have a habit of trying to be the last and first people in the day they speak to. First one to wake up, wakes the other; and the first one to go to bed, calls a goodnight call to the other. When they’re on different continents, a goodnight call is usually the wake-up call for the other, but it’s still good. They still get to pretend, albeit with some effort, that they’re waking up and falling asleep together.

They chat for a bit, Louis telling about his writing session yesterday (his today) with this new cool writer, and Harry happily tells Louis he has absolutely nothing planned. He’s just going to maybe go for a run, clean a bit, maybe practice guitar. Enjoy his day off with no obligations. 

“Oh shit,” Harry blurts as he opens the curtains. “That’s my morning run ruined.” 

Louis is quiet for a bit on the other end. “Why? Is the weather shitty?” 

“Yeah,” Harry opens the window and peeks out. “It’s not raining yet, but it feels like it will. A proper storm, I reckon.” 

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Louis mutters under his breath. 

Harry chuckles. “Hey, it’s not that serious, honey. I’ll watch shitty day time telly instead. One run here or there.” 

“Alright,” Louis says and yawns himself. They’ve been talking for almost an hour now. “I need to head to bed soon. How have you been?”

As one way of making sure they kept communicating with each other honestly, they’d started to ask each other how they were really feeling, and telling each other just that. 

“A little better. I don’t… I haven’t really been thinking much of, like, bad thoughts. Feel a little lonely with you not here but I know I’m not, like, alone-alone.”

“Good. I’m happy to hear that, babe.” 

“How are you?” 

“Okay. Miss you too. Been thinking about us, a lot, especially with the writing session.” 

Harry smiles fondly. “Good stuff only, I hope.” 

“Such good stuff, peach. Might hear how good stuff on the radio one day.” 

“Think I’d hear it in the studio, first.” 

Louis laughs. “Touché. Right, love, I really need to sleep now. I love you a lot.” 

“I love you a lot, too, Lou. Goodnight. Sleep well.”

Harry finishes the call, feeling happy and positive about the day, despite the dark clouds outside. Maybe he could actually leave the house today, be social, maybe see his sister. 

His thoughts are interrupted with the gate buzzer going off with a loud noise. 

“Hello?” 

“Got a delivery for H. Styles?” 

“Ah, right, that’s me then! Come through.”

A loud knock from the door follows soon. There’s a delivery man whose face Harry can’t see, as it’s hidden by a big bouquet of flowers. 

“Are you…” The man seems to lift his noteboard up to read the name. ”H. Styles?” He then says and lowers the bouquet to show his face. “Ah right, you are aren’t you! Sign here please.” 

The man holds the board as Harry signs his name, taking the bouquet and thanking the man, bidding him a good day. The man drives away in his van, leaving Harry a bit puzzled on the door, smelling the bouquet and closing the door behind him. 

As he unwraps the package, a gorgeous bouquet of different yellow and pink flowers is revealed. It’s a mix and match of a few different flowers, looking just like how Harry loves flowers most: bright colours, looking like embodiment of joy and happiness, a bit unruly and not too polished. They smell heavenly. He’s pretty sure they’re from Louis (which melts his heart, thinking of Louis on the phone knowing the delivery was just about to arrive and even doing this for him to start with), but decides to leave reading the little card on the small envelope until after he’s put the flowers to a vase. 

After he’s set the flowers on a table in the conservatory, sure to get sunlight if the sun ever decides to appear, he puts the kettle on and reads the note while waiting. It’s written in an unfamiliar handwriting, must be someone from the flower shop. 

_Babe,_

_Going to get proper sappy on you so be warned._

_Yellow flowers symbolise joy and happiness, pink symbolises unconditional love and gentleness. Kinda sounds like someone I know (it’s you). You’re both my yellow and pink flower._

_You’re a treasure, and I want you to have one too, so you’re going on a treasure hunt today. Your adventure bag is all packed, and you can find it where all your lost stuff usually is._

_Yours sincerely always_

_Lou xx_

_PS. I’m sleeping. Don’t call or text. Have fun!_

Harry lets out an embarrassing, affectionate yelp and presses the card to his chest for a bit. It’s not that rare for them to buy each other little surprises or even flowers, but… This seems especially heart-felt and thoughtful. Louis knew he was feeling a bit down with everything, and apparently organised this thing for him before he rushed off to LA five days ago. 

Harry reads the card again. “Where do I lose stuff…” he mutters out loud, chewing his lip. He pours himself a cup of coffee, and the caffeine seems to run through his veins and immediately spark up his thinking cells. He takes the cup, still holding the card, and goes to check their office. It’s a mystery to both him and Louis, how pretty much everything he’s ever missing always seems to find its way to the office (which Harry doesn’t even use that much, to be fair). Louis reckons they have a nice but a bit of a menace house ghost. Harry things the same, except the ghost is probably called Louis. 

True enough; Harry finds one of his brown duffel bags tucked away in the darkest corner in the office, hidden by an eccentric statue he got from a vintage shop somewhere in France. Sitting on the floor cross-legged and sipping his coffee, Harry opens the bag and starts going through the contents. 

Each item has a post-it taped to it, with something scribbled on them. A thermos travel mug ( _You’ll get more coffee soon enough, just in case you want one for the road_ ), a rather brown banana ( _You’ll have brekkie soon, have this as a snack in case so you don’t get hangry_ ), an actual CD ( _Play this throughout the day - no skipping songs or shuffling!_ ), a packet of tissues with pictures of penises ( _Hay fever season and you never bother to buy any – thought these were inspirational_ ) and finally, a postcard of a group of hens and on the other side, the name of one of Harry’s favourites cafes and a marking saying @11AM. 

Harry looks at the vintage clock on the wall, and rushes to get up, spilling coffee on himself. He takes the bag and the cup, heading to the shower – he’s got less than thirty minutes until he’s officially late. 

It’s not a long drive to the café, so he only manages to hear two songs from his CD – _Wake up Boo_ by Boo Radleys and _Flowers in the Window_ by Travis. Perfect songs to start a very good day with. When he arrives at the café – at exactly 11:04 – he first looks around, confused, and is about to go ask the waiter behind a counter, full of with gorgeous looking pastries, when he hears someone yell his name. 

It’s Gemma and Lottie, tucked away in the back of the café, waving at him. 

“Don’t bother getting anything, we’ve already ordered!” 

“Which you’re paying for, by the way.” 

Harry leans to give both girls a kiss on the cheek, and takes a seat. “Hello ladies. Fancy seeing you here.” 

“Such a coincidence!” Lottie laughs brightly. 

“How are you even here?” 

“Skipping school, isn’t she?” Gemma winks at Lottie. 

“Can’t really disobey my only brother, can I?” Lottie says nonchalantly and reaches towards the tray on the table, set up with several different sandwiches, savoury pasties and elaborate little cakes. “Tea?” She then asks, offering the Victorian style tea pot to Harry and Gemma.

They have a lovely, long morning tea. Lottie keeps whining about how her mum treats her like a teenager, with Harry nodding knowingly (it’s not too long ago he _was_ a 19-year old celebrity, but to his mum, just a 19-year old). Gemma goes off on a tangent about a dickhead at work who’s constantly trying to hit her up, then moving to share a few feminist truths with Lottie. Harry tells about the flowers he received earlier, with both of the girls cooing, but swearing they know nothing else except they had a morning tea with Harry set up. 

“Oh, but there is this thing!” Lottie remembers suddenly as they’re getting up to leave. She passes a post card with a pint of Guinness on it to Harry. 

“I can’t drink this early,” Harry groans as he turns the card over. _Little birdie told me that the clubs are jumping. Sláinte!_

“I don’t get this,” Harry mutters and then shows it to Lottie and Gemma, who shake their heads. “Do I not get, like, one pass this whole day? What if I get lost or just can’t figure out the clue, should I then just stay where I am and wait for the dogs to find me?” 

“There is this, too, actually,” Gemma digs through her purse and hands Harry another card – or more a piece of paper, ripped off from somewhere hastily, with a sad smiley face and the text _You get one pass which you can get from me but use it wisely. Stop moaning._

“Okay. So, this card is obviously about beer, and sláinte, and the Guinness, that’s Ireland… Clubs and birds… He’s not sending me to a strip club, is he?” Harry looks disgusted. 

Lottie laughs and Gemma rolls her eyes. 

“Ireland and birdies and clubs… Oh fuck me, I’m seeing Nialler aren’t I? 

Lottie and Gemma shrug their shoulders in unison. 

“Useless, both of you,” Harry flips them off. “Still love you, though.” 

It takes a while longer to drive over to Niall’s place, so Harry has time to listen to quite a few of his favourite Arctic Monkeys songs, an Irish drinking song and obviously _Jumpin’ Jumpin’_ by Destiny’s Child. Harry is again puzzled as to why his love for puns is always called out, when his boyfriend is out there connecting dance clubs and golf clubs. 

He drives to Niall’s parking lot, stops the engine and buzzes himself in. Niall’s flat is gorgeous, the views over London are stunning; it’s not the kind of place he’d want to live in, but it suits Niall. 

“How long did it take ya to figure out where to come?” Niall laughs as he opens the door for Harry. “I had to help him with the hint. A bit genius, wasn’t it?” 

“Very.” Harry nods approvingly. 

“And sorry Liam and Zayn couldn’t be here, you know what it’s like, jetting off to the sun with your missus. Or, well, I guess you wouldn’t know.” 

“I’ll try my hardest to imagine, Niall,” Harry rolls his eyes. “I don’t have any golf course suitable clothes, though.” 

“Fret not! All taken care of,” Niall disappears to his bedroom and comes back, handing Harry a bag of… his own golf gear, it seems. 

“That little…” Harry starts and is interrupted by Niall’s loud laughter. 

“Think he might fancy you a bit.” 

“Maybe a bit,” Harry can’t help blushing. He changes to his golf gear and they drive to Highgate Golf Club, their usual in North London.

The weather is still a bit gloom and doom, very dark skies in the distance. Luckily for them, the grey weather seems to have scared off most other players and they get to have the whole range pretty much to themselves. Which is truly lucky, as Harry finds a strange unbalance between their scores. 

“Have you been practising behind my back, Nialler?” He queries as he prepares to putt, finding a good stance.

Niall tuts. “Not my fault I’m not too busy smooching about with my fella. Got time for actual important stuff in life.” 

“Such as golf?” 

“Especially golf,” Niall nods and follows Harry’s ball going vaguely where Harry had intended. Niall shakes his head. “Disgrace, you are. Not coming golfing with you again, unless you provide me evidence that it’ll be at least somewhat challenging for me.” 

Harry flips Niall off, laughing. Maybe he’s a bit rusty, sure, but at least his temper is better than the last time. Throwing around rude finger gestures isn’t quite the same as throwing tees to the nearby trees. They manage a full 18-hole round without the skies breaking on them, or losing a temper or too much equipment.

“God I could kill for lunch, now,” Harry rubs his stomach. “Fancy a bite in the club house?” 

Niall tries to be sneaky as he glances at his watch, and then nods. “Just a quick bite, then. And rather light, mind, a quick and light one.” 

“Alright,” Harry chuckles. “What time do I need to be in the next place, which I’m assuming is an early dinner?” 

“How would I know?” Niall is an awful liar. “As a general rule, though, I would think six o’clock is like a good time to have an early dinner. And you might wanna go change to what you were wearing earlier.”

Harry takes Niall’s word for it and goes to change back to his black jeans and silk-like black button-up. He opts to just having a small Caesar salad, remembering he’s got a well thought-out banana still in his car. 

Niall helpfully peels the banana as Harry’s driving them back to Niall’s. The CD is now playing One Direction songs; probably partly to entertain fanboy Niall and partly because it’s the songs Harry knows Louis has written mostly about him, and vice versa. 

“Thanks Nialler, I had a great time. We should take up golfing again, like properly,” Harry smiles as he drops Niall off. 

“And we shall,” Niall gives Harry a quick pat on the back through the window and starts walking towards the door. 

Harry frowns.

“Oh! Almost forgot,” Niall jogs back to him and digs out a crumbled postcard from the back of his back pocket. “Good luck,” he winks and goes into the building.

This time, the post card has two red hearts as a picture. In the back, it says a restaurant name and the time, 18:15 (Niall, that bastard) with a text __ _ _ _ the word_. 

Harry drives to the restaurant with listening to, well, mum-themed songs mainly. He and Louis have only been to the restaurant once before, but he remembers they both very much enjoyed it; it’s a newly-opened Italian family-restaurant, quite small and dimly lit, with an open-plan kitchen so customers can almost enjoy a fun cooking show whilst waiting for their food. Harry’s lead to an empty table in the back of the restaurant again, surprised to see it empty. He orders a small glass of white wine, and starts drooling over the menu. 

“Hello love!” 

“Sorry we’re late!” 

“We were having too much fun cackling at your house.” 

Harry stands up to hug his mum and Jay tightly (he was pretty sure he’d see them here) and then looks at them, surprised. “My house?” 

“Oh, sorry, your _public_ house,” Anne waves her hand. “Didn’t want to come barging in to yours and Louis’, so we just decided to use my key!”

“Have a proper ladies night in London!” 

“We’re going to _Soho_ after this,” Anne whispers with her eyes big and giggles. 

Harry can’t help but laugh with his mum and his almost-mum. “That’s brilliant, mums. Glad you’re having fun. I might join you guys, actually.” 

Anne shakes his hand and Jay huffs. “Oh no, please, old women, we’re no fun for you!” 

“That’s not what the press is saying,” Harry can’t help himself before the bitter words are out. 

Anne and Jay exchange a quick look. 

“Shall we order, then! A bottle of white would be a good start, don’t you think, dear?” 

“Ooh yes, I’ve got my eyes on this tiramisu. I’ll probably have that and the panna cotta, actually.” 

“Are we here just for like… wine and desserts?” Harry’s confused. And a little hungry, but the desserts part of the menu was well drool-worthy as well. 

The mums nod in unison.

Harry’s having a whale of a time, watching the two ladies he absolutely adores, giggle and gossip about what’s going on back home – he even forgets to pay attention to the loud Italian chefs putting on a show in the kitchen. He tells Anne and Jay about his day, how gorgeous the flowers were, how Louis for once did a great job at packing; about his lunch with their daughters, how he almost didn’t lose to Niall at golf. Anne and Jay look at him with fond expressions on their faces. 

As they’re waiting for their coffees and desserts to arrive, Anne wipes her mouth and hands to a napkin, putting it aside and looking at Harry. “Right, dear. I have something for you.” 

“Already?” 

Anne says nothing but takes out an envelope – bigger than the ones Harry got earlier today – and hands it over to Harry. Looking confused, Harry recognises his dad’s handwriting.

“And Robin send you all the love, of course. He was gutted he couldn’t be here today, but me and Jay really wanted to do a _mums in town_ kind of thing.” 

“And Dan and the girls as well, all told me to hug you. Which I will, but it’s so many hugs, I’ll do it when we leave. Too tipsy to get up from this chair right now.” 

Harry’s feeling a bit… weird, opening the letter from his dad. He frets for a bit over what Louis might’ve told everyone to get this day pulled together – that he’s not doing well, needs to be dragged out of the house, or maybe that he needs an extra amount of love today.

Reading his dad’s short but extremely sweet letter, he’s leaning towards the latter option. Des tells him about how proud he is of Harry in every way, what a wonderful son he’s always been and how much he’s learned from Harry; how he wishes nothing but a lifetime of only good things for his son. Harry feels wetness gather into his eyes as he finishes the letter. He swallows a few times, raises his look just to see Anne wipe her tears and Jay fan her face with her hand, looking up. 

Harry looks at them confused. It’s been a lovely day but something is definitely up. He doesn’t think he’s ever had a full day of being showered with so much love, and even if Louis isn’t here himself, he made all of this happen. Harry reckons Louis must truly fancy him quite a bit. 

And then it hits him, suddenly and without warning. He presses his hands to his chest, covering his heart and looks at Jay and Anne, eyes still wet. 

“Am I… being proposed to tonight?” He can feel his heartbeat, hammering under his hands. 

Anne and Jay look at each other and smile. 

“We can’t say, dear,” Anne says at the same time as Jay says “We don’t know, dear.” 

And it’s… The amount of how much Harry’s heart _feels_ right now is almost too much for him to handle, he feels like he might burst. Yes, they’ve talked about marriage and everything before, but… And they’d had such a hard time, and they got over it, maybe Louis is feeling the same absolute certainty and fearlessness he is now... And Harry has wondered about this, before, how it might feel to be proposed to (he’s certain he’s going to be tonight, now) but… Nothing could’ve prepared him for this. For knowing that the person he loves more than anything in this world, his best friend, his rock and soulmate and lover, truly does feel all those things back… Louis wants to share his life with him, forever. That’s the final thought that makes Harry burst in full tears and bury his head to his hands. 

“I hope those are good tears, dear?” Jay asks hesitantly. 

Harry nods, head still in his hands. 

“Oh my, my my, it wasn’t that long of a wait, was it!” Their waitress rushes to them and pats Harry’s back. “Your desserts and coffee are just coming, right there, you can see them! No need to cry anymore!” She looks around and sees the ladies in the table wipe off tears as well. She goes to the kitchen, mumbling in Italian and comes back with their order – and an extra bowl of gelato for everyone. 

Harry finally lifts his hand and chokes out a laugh. Jay and Anne reach out across the table, each taking one of his hands. 

“We love you both very much,” Jay tells Harry softly. “But I do want to have this dessert, so stop crying and start eating.” 

“Ruining our make-ups, love.” 

Harry laughs happily. “Nah, you’re fine. Smudged eyes are the newest trend in London.” 

When they’re done with their food, having thanked the waitress profoundly, they walk outside to Harry’s car to exchange very many hugs. He offers to drop them off to the centre, but they decline, claiming the tube is such an adventure in itself. Harry does drop them off to the nearest tube station, and his phone beeps as he waves the mums goodbye. 

_Come home, love x_

At the same moment, there’s a loud bang of thunder as Harry puts the CD on and starts driving the familiar route home. It’s only a short while away, and he spends it listening to _Songbird_ by Fleetwood Mac and then, should’ve guessed it, _Sweet Disposition_. 

He can see lights on in the house as he parks his car and runs to the door. The door opens just in time and there’s Louis, his Lou. Harry leaps on him, wrapping his legs around him and kisses him in the rain, all the love and missing and gratitude flowing into the kiss. He suddenly thinks how this is such a perfect redo of that scene in The Notebook where they kiss in the rain; he wouldn’t put it past Louis to even organise the rain to start at the perfect time. He laughs into the kiss and Louis nips his lip. 

“Hello, you.” 

“Hello, my darling,” Harry brushes the wet strands of hair off Louis’ forehead and disentangles his legs, sliding back down to his feet. “Such a lovely day, you’re so good, love you so much. Can’t believe you’re here,” he peppers Louis’ face and neck with little kisses. 

Louis chuckles and squeezes Harry. “I gather it was a good day, then. Good surprise.” 

“The best,” Harry mumbles against his neck in between kissing the wet skin there. It’s pouring down. “Just like you. I hope you’ve got dinner, though. Starving.”

Louis winks and pulls Harry inside to the warm house. Harry sniffs the air a little. 

“Is that…” 

“Yeah,” Louis looks a little embarrassed and scratches his neck. “Chicken stuffed with mozzarella and that.” 

“Nice. It’s my favourite.” 

“Favourite for my favourite. Now go get changed, you’re soaked. And can you bring me something to wear, too, can’t leave this mess for a moment.”

Harry jogs the stairs up and brings down two pairs of joggers and two warm sweaters, and two pairs of woolly socks. They change in the middle of the kitchen, wet clothes dumped in a pile in the hallway. Louis offers Harry a glass of wine as he jumps up on the counter, watching Louis cook. He observes for a bit, taking note of how Louis seems unable to concentrate in what he’s doing, checking everything constantly and knocking the table salt over.

“You seem nervous, hon.” 

“Nah, just… Don’t want to mess this up,” Louis mumbles and drops the table salt on the floor, while trying to pick it up. 

Harry hops down and goes to Louis, crouching down on the floor with him, pulling him up and picking up the table salt, placing it further by the stove. Louis turns back to the stove, testing the boiling potatoes with a fork and hisses as he burns his tongue.

“Please don’t be nervous,” Harry wraps his arms around Louis from behind and leans his jaw to his shoulder, rubbing it. “I’m going to say yes.” He kisses Louis’ neck. “No need to be nervous, Lou.” 

He feels Louis tense momentarily at his words, and then relax right after, all tension leaving his body and his movements coming calmer. “Who told you?” 

“No one,” Harry runs his fingers through Louis’ neck and hairline, watching their movement. “Figured it out all by myself. But, I don’t want to ruin whatever you have planned, just… Want you to know that I’m a sure thing, really.”

“Good. I mean, I thought, hoped you might be but… It’s good to know. Now bugger off, leave the chef alone.” 

Harry laughs lightly and kisses the back of Louis’ head, moving back to lean on the counter to allow Louis some space. He sips his wine and takes a look around, noticing two plates set up next to the vase of the beautiful flowers. He looks at them for a long time, then turning to look at Louis; he wants to remember absolutely everything about this day – the absolute most wonderful day of his life so far – and tries to save even the tiniest details into his visual memory, to have and to hold and to never forget. 

“Dinner is served,” Louis finally announces and Harry brings the plates to him, so he can dish up the food. 

They go to the dining table, but Harry stays standing up. 

“Well? You’re allowed to sit down, you know.” 

“I, uhm,” Harry then taps Louis’ thigh as a sign to pull back his chair so Harry can sit down on Louis’ lap. It’s a bit tight for space, Harry sitting sideways on Louis’ lap and Louis trying to lean over Harry to eat, but it’s perfect. Harry tells about his day, how much fun he had and how he figured out all the hints; Louis confesses he actually flew to London last night, and was awake in Harry’s other house when he called in the morning, pretending to be in LA. 

“Couldn’t go out so wouldn’t be discovered, so had take away with the mums. Who, by the way, gave me a proper third degree on my intentions.” 

“They didn’t know?”

“They knew, I think they just thought it was funny. I have, uhm, made sure everyone in your family, and actually mine too, is okay with this.” 

“Such a gent,” Harry hums happily and feeds Louis some mashed potato.

After they’ve finished the best dinner ever, Louis clears the table and brings out a trifle for dessert. 

“Made this myself, too,” he says quite proudly. 

Harry whistles. “Nice! Expanding your cooking horizons. It looks delicious.” 

Louis puts the trifle bowl down, and then looks at Harry. He’s still sitting sideways on the chair. Louis puts his hands on Harry’s head, running them down his cheeks; kneeling simultaneously as he runs his hands down Harry’s thighs and calves. He’s down on actual one knee, and takes Harry’s hands to his. “Harry,” he starts as Harry lets out a hitched sob. “I love you. To me, you are…” 

“Wait,” Harry whispers and sits down on Louis’ thighs. “Don’t ever want to be anywhere else than right where you are.” 

Louis squeezes Harry’s hands and continues. “You mean the world to me. You’re my best friend, my rock. You make me laugh and you make me cry but always at the same things that you laugh and cry about. I don’t… With everything we’ve been through, I’d never want to go through any of it with anyone else than you. For anyone else than you. I just want you, forever.” Louis reaches out to his pocket, and pulls out the most stunning vintage ring Harry’s ever seen. It looks like a signet ring; compass as the signet and then two small anchors on both sides. “Would you want to marry me?” 

Harry’s can feel wetness on his face, but he doesn’t even bother to wipe his eyes. He kisses Louis, hugs him tighter than he ever has (and that’s saying a lot). “Please and thank you,” he whispers. “I do, I really do want to marry you.” 

Harry holds his palm open, fingers straight so Louis can put the ring on. It fits perfectly, of course. Harry raises his hand to look at the ring, and shows it to Louis. “I want to get a ring for you, too. Make you as happy as you made me today.”

“You already do, babe.” Louis kisses Harry and can’t help put smoothen the ring with his thumb as he does. 

The engraving on the ring says _Fearless with you_.


	2. The planning.

Good things come to those who wait, though Harry thinks they had to wait an unnecessarily long time to finally get to the point where the wedding is half a year away. During the one thousand years of being engaged, Louis had kindly reminded him that patience is a virtue and so is having good math skills, and seven years isn’t really a thousand trillion billion (or whatever Harry whined each time). 

_In all honesty, Harry hadn’t really expected being engaged to be like this. They were over the moon, and he often caught himself admiring and touching his ring, whether it was on his finger in private or in his pocket or hanging on his neck in a little bag necklace when in public. The ring had turned into an almost magical object that Harry would fondle when feeling any sort of negativity, or fondness, and trying to root himself into something solid; something so pure and golden. Perhaps, fair to say, Harry had turned into the Gollum of his own life._

_So they were engaged and in love. Good, great stuff. Except, it didn’t change the everyday life, aside from feeling even more ironclad and secure in their relationship, even more absolutely positively totally certain that Louis was the love of his life. They still had to do dumb, awkward and downright upsetting things they were told to do. They still had to spend a lot of time away from each other. Harry still sometimes felt that he was a shit person who didn’t deserve Louis. They still had to deal with a lot of very difficult stuff, and it wasn’t a rare occasion for things to get snappy and for them to find themselves in a fight – not angry at each other or really fighting with each other, or about each other, but just venting out the frustration and occasional desperation of their situation. Harry knew they’re strong, they’ve gone through their crisis and they are going to get married, one day, just that… sometimes, there are days, moments, feelings, that are so difficult to cope with, to live through._

_But at least there was something that was so thoroughly good, so pure, so absolutely made of love in Harry’s life that he could get lost in; resort to escaping into this little universe when things felt like too much. Harry had taken – with occasional input from Louis, of course, he’s not one to turn into an obsessively controlling groomzilla, after all – into thinking and planning the wedding every time things had gotten stressful or he was feeling almost hopeless in doubting if they’d ever be able to actually see the day of getting married. From little tidbits to big and important things, it felt as if focusing on those things during bad times had kept him going, like he was in the beginning of a twisty rainbow, thunder clouds visible throughout the way, but he knew the other end would have the happiest ending for him and Louis._

\---

“Haz!” Louis yells when he comes home, keys making a clattering sound as he throws them on the table in the hallway. “I come bearing gifts.” 

Harry jogs out to the hall, hair pulled back with a hairband and yoga pants on. He takes the big brown box off Louis’ arms and kisses his cheek. 

“Eugh, sweaty,” Louis groans cheekily and pats Harry’s shirtless back. “I still don’t get how yoga can make you sweat.” 

“It’s because when I do it, I actually do it instead of focusing on staring.” 

Louis shrugs. “Can’t help it, babe. You look divine, bending and all.” 

Harry blushes a little. 

They go to the kitchen, Harry picking out scissors from a drawer and starting to open the box. “Thanks for getting these.”

“No problem,” Louis takes a mandarin from the fruit bowl and starts peeling it. “So those should be the save the date -cards now, right?” 

“Mm-hmm. Can’t believe we can finally send these out!” Harry’s feeling so excited, finally having something concrete to touch to mark that they really, finally, are getting married in about six months. 

“Yeh, I think it’s a good idea to send these out first, knowing how busy our friends are. Don’t want anyone to not be there,” Louis muses as he pops a piece of mandarin to his mouth and gives Harry another piece. “I’m still not sure of your idea of having a take out feast this weekend and writing these, though. I don’t want to send out stuff that’s covered in curry.” 

“Pfft. I’d take little droplets of sauce on them any day over dealing with us writing them when we’re hangry. You know you _can_ actually see if something is written angrily. The writing’s all scribbled and messy.” Harry’s finally got the box open, and he’s unwrapping the silk paper off from around what should be about a hundred save the date -cards. 

Louis carefully picks out one, looking at the anchor on the card of recycled paper – one half of the anchor blue, the other green, forming one whole – and the text announcing they’re getting hitched and to save a date. “I still really love these, babe. Very us.” 

Harry hums, a bit lost in his thoughts. The cards are very cute, very them, but there’s a strange feeling of… nausea starting to form in Harry’s stomach. 

_Harry’s never wished he could be anything else but a popstar performing in front of thousands of people more than he does right now, as he’s throwing up for the second time backstage. He can feel cold shivers run through his body, which is fucking ridiculous as it’s so hot and he’s sweating like a pig. He can hear the other boys carry on the song, and he feels like crying – fuck, maybe he is, his face is a mess of sweat and spit so who knows if there’s a third liquid getting mixed into the disgustingness. Someone’s passing him a wet towel and a new bottle of water; he presses the towel to his forehead for a blissful second before it’s snapped away and he’s rushed to go back on stage. He feels his knees shake involuntarily and he has probably soaked his shirt. He just wants to go to bed and sleep for days, cuddle up in a warm duvet and at the same time lay naked and feel a refreshing breeze on his skin. Someone comes to him, gives a quick hug and checks if he’s alright – actually maybe there’s two people, he’s feeling dizzy and not quite at place in the reality happening around him right now. He tries to look for Louis with his eyes – risky, he knows, but he doesn’t quite frankly give a shit right now as he just needs to let Louis know he’s ok and see his Lou’s face – but Louis is resolutely on the other side of the stage, barely stealing glances at him. Harry feels like crying, again._

_“Don’t worry, I’ll let him know you’re ok,” someone, probably Liam, whispers to Harry._

_And Harry wants to say he really, really is not ok, but the show must go on. He only throws up once more after that._

_After the concert’s done, there’s a hell loose backstage. Louis is yelling at someone, or probably a few people, Liam is trying to be sensible, someone’s smoking a joint and it’s making Harry’s head throb but it’s also making him see weird blobs of green on his other eye and blobs of blue in the other, and he just wants everyone to shut up and for someone to open a window to let in fresh air, though there are no windows. He tries to bury himself deeper under the jacket he’s buried himself under. The colourful blobs become clearer in his head, and he dozes off just when he sees the two blobs form a new, bigger blob of something that looks vaguely familiar._

_When he wakes up, it’s to a blissful feel of something cool and soft pressed on his forehead. Turns out it’s Louis’ lips, and as Harry opens his eyes, he sees a beautiful painkiller offered to him and a glass of water probably poured from the waterfalls of heaven._

_“How are you feeling, love?” Louis asks softly as he’s smoothing Harry’s sweaty hair._

_“Awful,” Harry croaks and coughs, then taking the pill and downing the glass of water. “You shouldn’t be near me, you’ll get sick too, you always do.”_

_“I know,” Louis says and presses a light kiss on Harry’s lips. “In sickness and in health, yeh?”_

_Harry manages a small smile and puckers his lips as a sign for Louis to give another little kiss._

_“So, uhm, I… Have been informed that I am to not approach you on stage in any circumstances. That there’s plenty of other people to check up on you. That I’m not needed there.”_

_Harry pouts. “But I needed you.”_

_Louis grits his teeth. “I know, Haz. I just… I can’t.”_

_Harry looks at Louis, and even in his horrible state, decides to not push it. It is what it is, and all he really can do, is tell Louis about the blue and green blobs that he saw, and how maybe those could somehow be used in the wedding as it felt symbolic, somehow._

Louis’ voice stirs Harry from his reminiscing. 

“Babe, you okay? Are they not what you ordered?” 

“No, no, they’re… Just as they should be.” Harry shakes his head and smiles at Louis, albeit the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You order the food and I’ll get the addresses.” 

They manage to not make a mess of neither themselves nor the cards. Harry takes them to the post first thing next morning.

\---

“I still can’t believe Lottie didn’t cry,” Louis looks flabbergasted. 

Harry laughs. “I can. I _knew_ Fizzy would. Pay up, pal.” He extends his hand expectantly for Louis to dig out his wallet and give Harry a fiver. 

Harry takes the note and smells it. “Thanks, hon. About time I win a bet.” 

“Don’t spend it all at once,” Louis huffs. “Still can’t believe my own sister didn’t tear up, getting the save the date card.” 

“This might be shocking intel, but Fizzy is actually also your sister.”

“Oh shut it,” Louis waves Harry off. “Just keep your eyes on the road.” 

They’re on their way to go see stylist-Harry for their first suit fittings. 

“My favourite Sues!” Harry Lambert greets them with kisses on cheeks as he opens the door to his work room.

“Bet you say that to everyone,” Louis laughs. 

“Not everyone. Just my favourites. You two are special,” Harry winks as he leads them into the big, light room, with different fabrics scattered around in piles and clothes racks everywhere.

He gets them cups of coffee and gives an order to start stripping. “So these are just stitched together lightly now, so no extravagant movements, please boys.” 

Louis strips to his underwear and looks at his suit. It looks gorgeous, and having it done by a dear friend makes it extra special. 

“Your arse looks amazing in that,” Harry nods appreciatively. “Might have to end the wedding ahead of time, if you know what I mean.”

“Filthy, the two of you,” stylist-Harry says with some pins on his mouth as he’s tightening the waist of the coat on Louis. “This feel alright? You can still breathe?” 

“Yeah,” Louis turns around carefully in front of the mirror, checking himself out. “It’s perfect. You’re a magician.”

“So they say,” Harry mutters as he finished the last fixes on the suit. “Alright young Harry, clothes off then.” 

Harry’s suit is gorgeous as well, it fits him perfectly and the material feels like silk. They’re not identical with Louis’, but match perfectly together. The pants are a bit looser than he’d like on the thighs, so he asks Harry to take a few more measurements. 

“Oh shit,” Harry suddenly turns to look at them, gasping and covering his mouth with his hands.

“What’s wrong?” Louis sounds as alarmed as Harry feels. 

“You’re not supposed to see each other, are you! It’s bad luck,” Harry widens his eyes comically at the last words. 

Louis belts out a loud laugh. “We’re hardly neither of us blushing brides, here. I think it’s bad luck to see the bride, which, none of those here so we’re pretty solid, I reckon.”

Harry forces out a laugh as he’s still looking at his reflection in the mirror, not really paying much mind to Louis and Harry. He still thinks the ruffles on the shirt look great, but looking at himself, in a suit he’s going to wear to his wedding, a wedding he’s been waiting for… ten years, more or less, makes him feel… a bit uneasy. 

_It’s obvious, looking at the picture, that it’s the same shirt on both Louis and Harry, pictures taken a few hours apart. Neither had spared a thought to what they were wearing; just grabbing the nearest shirt on the floor before dashing out of the hotel room, knowing they were already late because they’d been… busy. They shared clothes a lot in private, it was habitual and especially important when they weren’t physically together and it just… happened, really. It was a Harry and Louis thing._

_And now this Harry and Louis thing is causing havoc online, with eagle-eyed gossip mongers also pointing out the way Harry’s eyes are positively glowing and his hair looks like a mess, and Louis seems to be well proud of himself._

_So when Harry’s phone rings, and even the tone sounds pissed off, it’s not a huge surprise to either of them. Louis looks at Harry with a blank expression as Harry hesitantly answers and prepares for a bollocking._

_“But you can’t do that! You promised---Yeah, I fucking get it, alright---We were supposed to have three days off---Fine.”_

_Harry listens to the angry voice on the other end of the phoneline, getting more menacing every second as Harry’s defiant voice gets quieter._

_He wishes he would have a landline so he could make a bang when he hangs up the call, telling Louis their few glorious days off have been cancelled for him as he’s going to be flown off to spend a romantic business meeting with someone blonde and skinny now somewhere in the world._

_“Are you fucking kidding me? We were going to…”_

_“I KNOW what we were going to! What the hell do you want me to do, Lou?” Harry’s fighting angry tears as he throws stuff into his duffel bag._

_“Have fun, then,” Louis snaps when Harry’s done packing and about to leave._

_“Oh come on,” Harry sighs. “I won’t, you know I won’t.”_

_Louis looks at him for a bit and then mutters. “Do I actually need to say sorry?”_

_“It would be nice,” Harry opens his arms for Louis to hug him, “but I know it anyway.”_

_For the whole long flight, Harry doodles and lists what he wants to wear when he fucking marries the person he loves. He does it with wearing the same damn shirt that got them into this stupid trouble._

They hug Harry good bye, thanking him profusely again (though they all know any other option than Harry making their suits was an impossibility). They stop over to get some sushi for lunch from a smaller sushi restaurant around the corner from their house. 

“Penny for your thoughts,” Louis’ voice interrupts Harry’s mindless staring out of the car window. 

“Hmm?” 

“You went far,” Louis says softly and squeezes Harry’s knee. “So, offering a penny for your thoughts.” 

Harry chuckles. “Come on, Lou. You can afford more. Millionaire and all.” 

“Alright. Anything for your thoughts?” 

Harry shrugs. “I don’t… I don’t know.”

“You don’t know the price?”

“I don’t know what I’m thinking.”

“You don’t really… Like, what Harry said, about bad luck. That’s not…” Louis stops the car on their driveway. “Like, honestly, we’ve had the worst luck in the world already. We’re good.”

“That’s not what…” Harry rubs his eyes and unbuckles his seatbelt, opening the door. “I know. We’re good. Think I’m just, tired, or…”

Louis lifts his eyebrow, staring at Harry intently as he closes the car door behind him. “You’re not… You’re not getting cold feet, are you? About getting married?”

Harry comes to stand next to him, hip bumping him and putting an arm around his shoulder as they walk towards their home. “I’ve waited to marry you for years. This is literally the thing I want more than anything in the world, ever. I’d never have cold feet about you.” Harry kisses Louis’ temple and pulls him closer to his side. 

“Good,” Louis nods. “I’ll allow you to eat sushi off me, then.” 

\--

The picture is lovely, truly. It’s an artistic one, a little bit blurry, black and white with some very gentle green and blue accents. And the text, very heartfelt and happy, and Harry remembers how long they spent to get it just right. 

It’s not the invitations that’s the problem, really. 

_“Do you have to take this route?”_

_“This is the quickest one, and we’re late. What’s wrong with it?”_

_“It’s so… busy,” Harry grunts as he pulls the beanie deeper into his head, having spotted a girl out on the pavement who saw them and is now digging out her phone as Louis’s stuck behind a double decker. “Feel like I’m on show here.”_

_Louis laughs, unaware of the girl taking pics. “You are a very good trophy to show off, babe.”_

_“Shut up,” Harry tries not to chuckle and almost manages. “I can’t believe you still flatter your way out of trouble.”_

_“What can I say, really, s’not my fault you’re so… vain.”_

_“Shut up for real now,” Harry laughs and shoves Louis’ upper arm gently, as Louis had started to hum a few chords of the old song. “It’s just that… like, a girl was taking pictures.”_

_“But that’s fine now, love. Nothing to hide anymore.”_

_“I know, I just…”_

_“What?” Louis turns to look at him quickly. “Don’t want people to see us together?”_

_“No, not that, I just don’t… feel comfortable.”_

_“But it’s fine now, Haz.”_

_“I know it’s fine, I don’t have to like it though. It’s not… Like, we’re not for consumption.”_

_“Okay but, like, I’m not going to take a longer route if we’re late because you’re suddenly camera shy.”_

_“It’s not about being camera shy, come on.”_

_“We’re not… We’re out, Haz. People know. So what if someone gets a picture here or there?”_

_“M’not used to it,” Harry mutters as they pull to a stop in front of the studio._

_“Well better get used to it. I’m not going to carry on hiding and sneaking around when there’s no reason to, anymore,” Louis slams the car door shut._

_“I’m not talking about hiding or sneaking around, I just don’t…”_

_“But you are, though! Saying we should take roads less busy and, what, keep on sneaking around at night time and like… Carry on being like we’re not out, now?”_

_“That’s not what I’m saying at all,” Harry hisses as they knock on the door. “I just don’t want to become, like, a headline favourite.”_

_“Oh please, as if that’d be something new to you,” Louis rolls his eyes._

_“Or you. I just don’t want to flaunt this.”_

_Louis’s about to say something back as the door opens and the photographer greets them happily and leads them inside._

_“So, I believe you said something about black and white, yeah?” The photographer chats as he’s setting up the camera and finishing the adjustments on the lights._

_“Yeah,” Harry smiles and tries to be on his most charming behaviour to make up for the tangible awkwardness between him and Louis. “We really liked the almost abstract  
collection in that gallery in New York, remember Lou?”_

_“If you’re sure it wasn’t too much flaunting for you,” Louis mutters._

_Harry gives him a dry, bored look. “I didn’t say…”_

_“But that’s what you meant!”_

_The photographer stares at them for a bit and then claps his hands. “So! You ready to take some wedding invitation pictures, then?”_

_The photographer decides the aesthetic will be better without shirts, as everything will be blurred slightly but their tattoos will create a nice continuing balance. Harry and Louis still carry on bickering as they follow the photographer’s instructions._

_“Alright, chaps, take five,” the photographer finally sighs loudly._

_Harry and Louis turn to look at him, puzzled._

_“We’re supposed to be taking pictures for wedding invitations here! Not a very loving atmosphere, I must say. I’m going to take a dump now and you two can get over… whatever it is you need to get over with.” The photographer flips his non-existent hair and disappears._

_Harry and Louis look at the floor for a bit, until Harry clears his throat. “I’m not… I know who we are, and I’m not stupid enough to think it’s not, like that we wouldn’t be…talked about. Especially now.”_

_Louis nods, crossing his arms and looking at Harry expectantly, waiting for him to continue._

_“But, uhm,” Harry scratches his neck, “I don’t want to… Like, I don’t want to become, I don’t want us to become a commodity, I guess. I want to still keep things private. As much as we can.”_

_“I get that, Haz, I do. I don’t want to be like, shoving ourselves up everywhere either, I have no interest to be in CBB either, cheers. I just… I don’t want to feel like, we’re out now and I just don’t want to feel like we should still sneak around and hide. Like, I waited for a long time to be able to do this with you and I just… want to, now.”_

_Harry looks at Louis for a while, as if contemplating, and then takes his hand. “Okay.”_

_“Okay?”_

_Harry nods. “Okay. I’ll try to be… I’ll try to work on my, uhm, thing.”_

_The photographer comes back, finding Harry and Louis in a warm embrace, and takes a candid picture of them._

“I love that picture,” Louis sneaks up behind Harry and puts his jaw on his shoulder. “Even if it wasn’t the nicest of days.” 

\--

Louis enters a kitchen with pots and pans and mixing bowls scattered all over, and finds Harry sitting on the floor with a bit of flour on his hair, licking a wooden spoon that he’s dipping into a yellow mixing bowl for more dough. He seems to be staring mindlessly into the distance. 

“Hello,” Louis says quietly as he sits on the floor next to Harry and dips his finger into the dough, tasting it. “Raspberry muffins?” He guesses. 

“And white chocolate,” Harry offers more the bowl to Louis who happily accepts. “I’ve also got pieces of chocolate cake somewhere. And a carrot cake. Without the carrots, because my hand hurt when I tried to peel them.” 

“What a treat!” Louis tries to sound cheerful. “What’s the occasion?” 

Harry shrugs and starts picking his finger nails. Louis waits. 

“I was… I tried to remember…” Harry looks down and runs his palms up and down his thighs. “I can’t remember what cake we chose.” 

“When?” Louis licks the last remains of the delicious dough from the bowl.

Harry turns to look at Louis. “For our wedding, Lou. I can’t remember what cake we chose. I thought, maybe baking would help me remember but… I don’t remember.” 

Louis looks at Harry for a few silent seconds and then brushes his hair very softly, trying to brush off the bits of flour. “We don’t have a cake, love. We chose cupcakes.” 

Harry stares at Louis and then starts, nervously. “I don’t… I don’t remember.” 

“Yeah, three different ones,” Louis carries on brushing Harry’s hair. “Carrot cake ones, red velvets and blueberry cheesecake ones.”

Harry nods slowly. “Well, at least they sound good. I just…”

“I know,” Louis pulls Harry closer and hugs him close. They sit down like that for a bit, until Louis says happily. “Right, I believe I’ve got some carrots to peel.” He gets up and pulls Harry up by his arms. 

_“But it’s my wedding, too, Haz!” Louis mock-whines. “I think we should have at least five different ones. And a cake. Several cakes, in fact.”_

_Harry chuckles. “Maybe we should just have a dessert buffet instead of an actual wedding meal.”_

_Louis jumps on Harry’s back. “Damn genius, you are. I’m totally marrying you.”_

_“Come on, you’re ruining my suit,” Harry laughs and moves to smooth down the front. “Can’t believe we didn’t plan better than to have a cake tasting just before walking on a red carpet.”_

_“I think it’s pretty easy to believe, actually. We make a lot of stupid decisions. Like opting to try a blueberry-anything when you’re wearing basically white. And when I say we, I obviously mean you,” Louis pinches Harry’s bum._

_“Obviously,” Harry agrees as they turn around the corner and are met with a red carpet and some flashing lights._

_The event is for a cancer charity, one very near to both of their hearts. There’s a few journalists lined up, alongside photographers, by the red carpet. They greet a few of the ones they know, hug the ones they know to be nice, and give little sound bites praising the charity and talking about the importance of having yourself checked regularly for early diagnosis._

_As they pass the journalists, they stand in front of the photo wall, ready to pose for the cameras. Harry puts his hand around Louis and Louis… flinches. It’s minimal and the cameras hardly catch it, and Louis doesn’t seem to notice it, but Harry feels… a little weirded out, offended maybe. They change poses and he tries again, only to have Louis hip bump him to make the picture into a funny one. The photographers ask for one more, and Harry sees Louis look at him from the side of his eye quickly, and Harry opts to showing the peace sign. They exchange thank you’s with the photographers and make their way towards the event area._

_“Alright, what was that?” Harry mutters under his breath as they nod hi’s to a few familiar faces they walk past._

_“What was what?” Louis asks through a smile as he waves to one of the charity organisers in the distance._

_“You flinched.”_

_“I didn’t.”_

_“You so did. I tried to touch you and you flinched.”_

_“I don’t think this is the time or the place, wouldn’t you agree?” Louis smiles at Harry as they’re taking their seats on their assigned table, greeting the others already sitting down._

_“So you do know what I mean.”_

_“Harry,” Louis looks at him, smile fading. “Can we please not talk about this right now, here?”_

_They save it until they get home._

_“Did I do something wrong?” Harry asks, feeling uncertain._

_Feeling Louis flinch on his touch, is bringing back a lot of bad memories from earlier, when Harry was just coming to terms with what their public reality was supposed to be from now on. He would often forget, approach Louis and be gentle before remembering that he wasn’t supposed to do that anymore – before seeing Louis try to evade his touch or step further away from him, reminding him of the reality in front of cameras. It had made him feel like he’d done something wrong then; that it was him and not the situation pushing Louis away. The feel of rejection still, occasionally, lifts its ugly head inside Harry. He knows better, of course, but knowing isn’t the root of feeling._

_“No, love,” Louis cups his cheeks and looks into his eyes. “I don’t… No, you did nothing wrong. You were lovely as always.”_

_“I don’t get it then,” Harry mutters. “It’s okay now, to do that, isn’t it?”_

_Louis presses a kiss to his forehead. “Of course, love. I just… I’m not used to it, I guess. Just a gut feeling, I… I’ve been doing it for so long, I guess it… takes a while to get yourself out of the habit. We, or me, just need to… relearn some things.”_

_“Okay,” Harry nods quietly. “I’ll… Stop doing it, for now, in front of cameras, if it makes it… easier. If you take the lead.”_

“Why do you never stop me from eating dough _and_ all the cakes?” Louis groans as they’re getting to bed later that night, or early morning really it is, and he feels absolutely bloated. His fingers have turned strangely orange, and they smell like carrots when he smells them. 

Harry makes a nonchalant sound, laying on the bed on his back, hands crossed on his stomach. Louis goes to lie next to him, turning off the switch and putting the gentle light on the night table on, reaching out for his book from the table and finding the place he last read. 

He doesn’t get many pages ahead, when Harry’s quiet voice interrupts him. 

“Do you think maybe…. _am_ I getting cold feet?” 

Louis doesn’t know what to say, instead he puts his book away and turns to his side, to face Harry. Harry looks at him from the side of his eye and then focuses his eyes back on the ceiling. 

“Do you think you are?” 

Harry makes a move resembling a shrug. “I don’t think I am.” 

“Do you not…want to get married?” Louis starts hesitantly, knowing that it’s probably even silly to ask but he has to. 

Harry turns to him, and takes his hand, kissing the knuckles. “I do, I do the most, it’s what I’ve wanted more than anything, I just… I don’t know. I feel… weird.” 

“About what?” 

“I don’t know,” Harry sighs. “It’s like there’s this… lump, in my throat, or not really my throat, somewhere lower, and I don’t know what it is or how to get rid of it, it’s just sitting there and it’s growing and… It’s like it’s making breathing harder.” Harry’s eyes are glistening now, and he lets go of Louis’ hand to rub his eyes forcefully. “I’m so sorry, Lou, I’m such a mess, I don’t know.” 

“Why haven’t you told me? You haven’t said anything.”

“I don’t… What was I supposed to say? I don’t even know what the fuck this is. I’m ruining everything.”

Louis takes Harry’s hands off his eyes and cradles them close to his chest. “Hey, no, you’re not… ruining anything. I don’t… want you to feel like this, you could’ve just told me earlier. How long have you felt this?” 

Harry sniffs. “I think, probably when the save the date -cards came.” He flinches, realising it was weeks ago. 

“That was weeks ago.” Louis looks at him, mixture of disappointment and sadness that’s really the worst look of having on the face of a loved one. “You should’ve told me, you know you can tell me anything.” 

“I didn’t want… I don’t want you to think I don’t want to marry you. I’ve literally never wanted anything more, I’ve wanted it for years.”

“Maybe it’s, like, we’ve waited for so long and now it’s all here, about to happen, and like, maybe it’s just being anxious of everything being perfect? You are a bit of a control freak, love.”

“I know,” Harry sighs and then nods after a while. “You’re probably right. I just want everything to be perfect. And like, I know it will be anyway, I’m marrying you and that’s the most important thing. I’m just freaking out, I guess.”

“Such a freak,” Louis smiles at him and pulls him closer to a tight hug, rubbing his back a little. Harry’s running his fingers down Louis’ arm, all the way to his fingertips which he then raises to his mouth and kisses. 

“Yeah. Your freak. Hope you know you’re stuck with me.”

They lay together quietly, only the soft light from the night light lighting up the room. Louis listens to Harry’s heart beat even from the pounding he could feel in his chest first, his breathing slowing down from the gasps and his sniffling decreasing. 

He knows this boy, _man_ , in his arms, better than he probably knows himself – but it’s ok, because Harry knows him better than himself, too. They’ve grown up together and they’ve grown into each other, changing so much from what they were when they first met each other in a smelly loo all those years ago. They’ve calmed each other down, made each other wilder in different ways, they know how to make each other tick in both good and bad. They’ve learned through hardship what they need from each other and from themselves to make this work, how much vulnerability and trust and acceptance it requires, for them to be able to have this, have each other and feel happy. But it’s not always about what you learn and how you figure out how they as a unit, as us, needs to work – despite everything they’ve been through, there’s still parts of themselves that sometimes come up as unfortunate characteristics that are just very Harry, or very Louis, what they’d been since their very first breath. 

And Louis knows, despite how well Harry’s done on working on it, that he sometimes gets so overwhelmed; anxious, working himself into a frenzy when his biggest dreams he’s wanted for years are about to come true. Louis hasn’t ever seen Harry try anything and not be brilliant at it, and one of his biggest wishes in life would be for Harry to realise it as well – no matter how many things he’s been scared of, gone after, excelled at, he still gives himself no slack or mercy but usually tends to brutally beat himself down on whatever way he thought he fucked something up. 

“Let’s go see the venue,” Louis then says to the silence. It makes absolute sense to him; to have them go to the place together, just the two of them, to remember what they’re doing and why and how it really is the most important thing here. 

“What? In the middle of the night?” Harry stirs but Louis knows that voice – it’s not Harry’s ‘absolutely not’ -voice. It’s his ‘you’re weird but I’m intrigued’ -voice (or, his Louis- voice to be quite honest). 

“We’ve stayed up half the night anyway, and it’s a few hours away so it’ll be almost light when we get there.” 

“We could try their breakfast…” Harry starts hesitantly. 

Louis nods. “Better make sure it’s good, don’t want any unpleasant surprises on the morning after the wedding.” 

The venue is by the seaside, about two hours’ drive south from London. They’ve never actually been there together, and Harry feels some sort of… closure, or maybe a start of something, as they drive in the dim early Spring morning. 

Harry’s rummaging through the stack of CDs in the glove box. 

“Why do we have nothing good here?” He groans. 

Louis takes a glance to the glove box, fumbles around himself and makes a victorious sound. “Ha!” 

He picks out the CD and waves it on Harry’s face. It’s the mixed CD he’d made for when he proposed to Harry. He’s just putting it in, when Harry stops his hand with his. 

“Don’t.” 

Louis looks at Harry, surprised. “You don’t like it?” 

“I do, I love it, I just… Don’t want to listen to it now. Not today.”

“Alright then,” Louis mutters. 

“Don’t be pissed, I love the CD. You know I do.”

“Just think it’s weird that, you know, you don’t want to listen to the proposal CD when we’re driving to where we’ll actually get married.” 

“I just want to keep it as it is, the CD. Part of the best memory I have ever had.” 

Louis doesn’t get it but lets it go. They’re almost there, anyway. 

The venue is a beautiful hotel, a little bit fancy but still warm and inviting, by the sea. They can hear the waves somewhere in the near distance, crashing against the cliffs, smell the sea breeze and hear some seagulls yapping away. The pathway to the beach is lit with little fairy lights, surrounded partly by a well-kept bushy fence. 

“I remember the video you sent me, when you came to see this place.” 

Harry takes a hand off his pocket and puts it on Louis’ jacket pocket, lacing his fingers around his so they stroll around slowly in the dark, sun starting to give out vague hints of potentially getting up soon, with holding hands in the warmth of Louis’ pocket. 

“The video was so bloody noisy, because of the wind, and the birds.” 

Harry remembers it too. It had been such a windy day, and the video was mostly static with maybe bits of his laughter to be heard somewhere in between as he’d filmed the area, giving Louis a grand tour. 

“And you looked so happy, your hair was flying all over the place and you kept almost choking on it. You were so happy.” 

“I was,” Harry smiles. 

“And you looked so beautiful on that video, and happy, and I wanted to be here with you and just get lost with, like, planning where to put this and that and kiss you but… But I was away.” 

Harry has nothing to say to that. It’s true. 

Louis stops on his steps. “I was away with her. I remember you came to see a place where we would get married and I was looking at all of this and being so in love with you and, I wasn’t here. I couldn’t be here because I had to be somewhere with her.”

They’ve made their way to the actual beach, and the sound of the dark ocean – so dark it looks like a big nothingness, like there’s nothing there – is loud, threatening almost. 

“I feel a bit like that, I think,” Harry says quietly after a while, nodding towards the sea. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Like, I know something’s there, but it’s so dark, and loud, and at any moment it might come and sweep us over, I can’t quite see it. Like I don’t remember what it looked like when it was sunny and pretty.” Harry’s words sound stupid in his own head, but he feels like there is some sense, finally, about to happen in his brain, like he’s getting closer to whatever the lump is caused by. He fears Louis might not understand, might be offended. He feels lost in his thoughts, like he might be drowning in them. 

“I get it, I think,” Louis starts slowly. “I think I… feel the same way, now. Coming here and all.” 

Harry looks at Louis curiously. 

“Like, this place, it’s gorgeous, and I remember looking at the pics and thinking it’s perfect, but now it’s like… I remember you came here, alone, and I wasn’t here. It’s not necessarily a… good memory, for me.”

And suddenly Harry feels like he can finally see what’s going on, like he’s finally swallowed heavily enough to get rid of the lump; like maybe there’s a bit of light in the distance and the sea gets a little quieter, he can make out the lines now, he can see a little clearer. 

“I don’t think I want any of this.” 

“What? You don’t want to… marry me?” 

“No! Of course I do, I do the most, but… all this just brings bad memories. I don’t think I want this wedding.” Harry turns to look at Louis, finding him staring at him. “I’m so sorry.” 

Louis shakes his head and holds Harry’s hand tighter. “Don’t be. I don’t… I don’t think I’d want to be married here, either. It’s not… Like, I know we did a lot of the planning with like, when things were really bad, and…”

“I don’t want to remember the bad stuff with everything I see at our wedding.” 

“Is that’s what’s been happening?” 

“Yeah,” Harry sighs deep and it feels like the last insecurity leaves his body. “Like the invitations, and the save the dates, and this place, and everything is just… I just remember how awful I felt when deciding everything.” 

On their drive home, Harry tells Louis every little detail of the planning; of all the hurt and anger and sadness he felt at each point, and what he now sees with everything that’s got anything to do with the wedding. 

“What can we do, though?” Harry sounds exasperated. “I do want to get married.” 

“I don’t…” Louis is drumming the wheel with his fingers, waiting for the light to change. “I don’t want you to be anything but the happiest on our wedding day and I don’t want you to look at stuff that makes you unhappy or brings out bad memories. And I don’t want that to myself, either. We deserve the happiest things.”

“We deserve everything, my darling.” Harry reaches his hand out to tickle Louis’ neck for a bit and then leaves it there, gently caressing the skin as Louis accelerates. “I think… I mean, we’ve waited for this for so long, maybe…” 

“Wait a little more?”

Harry bites his lip a little hesitantly. “Yeah, maybe. I just… want this to be perfect. Or, like, it doesn’t need to be perfect, just… Happy memories.” 

“Reckon we can do it in a year?” Louis winks at him.

“I reckon we can do anything.” 

\---

They postpone the wedding for a year, and the media has a heyday about it. 

“Lou! Bring matches, we’re having a fucking bonfire,” Harry grunts as he slams a pile of a few different gossip rags on the kitchen table. “Seriously, what’s so fucking hard to understand about the difference between cancelling and postponing?” He asks Louis who comes inside, picks one and takes a quick glance at the headlines screaming about ‘Larry on the rocks’ and ‘Not such a Gayous wedding day’. 

Louis rubs one of them on his arse and swears. “So you want to burn them?” 

“Yeah,” Harry grins, “and best to have masks on, fucking toxic, these are.” 

“Fucking listen to this: _A source close to the couple – for now – says the couple had been spotted fighting on the street days before a teary Styles had cancelled their venue booking._ Funny that, I remember we both felt very light and happy cancelling everything.” 

“And you yelled at me to drive safe, and that was not on the street.” 

“Wankers.” Louis says through his teeth as he throws a match in the big steel banner in their garden. 

“I just… Like, this is exactly what I never wanted to happen. Idiots making assumptions and looking into every detail and twisting them and…” Harry doesn’t know how to finish. 

Louis hugs him from behind and kisses the back of his head. “I know, baby. Bittersweet, really.” 

Harry huffs and looks into the fire. “Like, we’re getting married, finally, and I don’t… I don’t regret anything, just sometimes feel like… Maybe it was easier. Before.” 

Louis knows what he means, and it really is bittersweet, in a very bitter way. Being out, being proud, still being so incredibly in love and about to get married and have everything they always dreamt of, but it’s also… harder, to feel like instead of what used to be speculation, now spread out in the open and have so many people look into everything and take joy out of false assumptions. Before, it was people ripping into speculation or fake lives and love, and now they’re ripping into the real thing. 

“I know, it’s… Weird, wanting to share things with the world. And not wanting to share anything, at the same time.” 

“I just…” Harry sighs and turns to face Louis, pressing his face to his neck. “It just sucks. They don’t know a fucking thing about us or why we’re doing this and, I know it doesn’t matter, or it shouldn’t, what other people think, I just hate that people thing that we’re… Not good, or something. Like, people think we’re not good for each other.”

“It doesn’t matter what others think, you know that.”

“It’s just so hard sometimes, trying not to care, when everything you love is made into something nasty in front of everyone.”

“I know babe. They’ve always made up shit about us.”

“It just feels more… personal, now. Like I don’t care what people said about who they thought I was and what we pretended to be, like, it was all bullshit anyway, but now it’s like… Now it’s towards us.” 

“But we know we’re not what they say, love.” 

“I just…” Harry sighs. There’s really nothing he can say, or do. “Like, I don’t regret anything, coming out or…. Anything. Sometimes it just, I don’t know, feels like…”

“I know,” Louis sighs and kisses Harry. “Fuck them.” 

“Fuck them,” Harry smiles widely, finally. “Let’s go plan our wedding.”


	3. The wedding.

“Nervous, Styles?” Louis is going for a relaxed voice as he fidgets with his shirt buttons. 

Maybe it could fool someone else, but Harry knows better. “No. Nothing to be nervous about.” 

Louis looks like he’s got a list prepared in his head, of all the things that he _should_ be nervous about, things that _could_ go wrong, but Harry shuts him up by continuing. “I don’t care what happens, I’m marrying you. I’m going to go there and marry you and that makes me… more peaceful than I’ve ever been.” 

The first notes of the piano start echoing from the church walls, and Harry stands up from the bench, standing next to Louis in front of the still closed doors. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and looks at Louis, taking his hand. 

“Hold my hand, and don’t let go,” he asks softly. 

“Never,” Louis squeezes the hand as the doors open. 

The walk down the aisle, hand in hand, smiling at the faces of friends and family, some more teary than others – Harry’s own welling up as he spots his mum bawling at the end of the aisle. They stop in front of the happily smiling Reverend. They’d met a few times before, instantly got along as they’d told her about their relationship, their history, and felt very warmly received by her. 

The Reverend’s words make Harry feel like he forgets everything about the surroundings, until it’s just him and Louis here, in front of someone speaking so beautifully of them and the ways they love each other so completely and fearlessly; of all the obstacles and hard times they’ve been through and how they are still here, and Harry’s never felt more in love with Louis than he does right now. Harry feels his heart beat so strongly, in the same rhythm as Louis’, and he feels himself being rooted into this moment and security, with his heart pumping love into his veins and his veins carrying it through his hand to Louis’, up his veins and into his heart. 

They’d wanted to also do their own vows, of course – as if they’d pass on an opportunity to use their words for the trillionth time to tell each other how much they adored each other. There are promises of love and support and forever; words that make people cry and words that make people laugh, tender words of taking care of each other’s hearts and never breaking them, never breaking the trust placed on each other. 

“I need to let go of your hand for a wee while now, love,” Louis chuckles as he takes the ring to put it on Harry’s finger. Once the ring is on its place, he lifts Harry’s hand to his lips and kisses the ring, making Harry and the audience laugh.

Harry follows suit (let it be known it was his idea in the first place), and after the firmest, loudest and sincerest I do’s the Reverend ever remembers hearing, they are declared husband and husband. Harry wipes the wet skin under Louis’ eyes with his thumbs as Louis does the same for him, causing a cackle and a few loud sniffs from the crowd, and they kiss for a long time, with the crowd erupting in cheers. Harry and Louis find it difficult to stop with approximately four follow-up butterfly kisses, before they turn around and walk back to the doors. 

“Can’t believe you’re my fucking husband,” Harry laughs as they wait for the crowd to get outside the church to greet them. 

“We’re in a church, Haz,” Louis laughs as he keeps kissing Harry’s face anywhere his lips happen to touch. “But yeah, I’m your husband. You’re my husband.” 

“We got married,” Harry stills Louis by placing his hands on his cheeks. 

“We got married,” Louis puts his hands to cover Harry’s and kisses him again. “I still think we should’ve cut up the gossip rags and made confetti to throw on us out of it.” 

But instead, they had opted for bird seeds for everyone to throw as they’d get down the church stairs – better for environment and better for birds, as Harry had reasoned with a vindictive Louis one night when they’d been listening to the birds sing in their garden, enjoying a late dinner and good wine. 

The wedding venue isn’t too far a ride outside London. They’d both fallen in love with it immediately as they’d gone to see it, wanting something cozy and rustic. The main room is airy and light with big windows bringing in the gentle August sun from floor to ceilings. The outside space is decorated with fairy lights hanging on the trees and a mix-and-match setting of different vintage chairs and tables for the barbeque and dance and song night later (how lucky to know so many excellent musicians who never travel anywhere without guitars). The garden has plenty of space for the younger guests to run around and coo over the ducks swimming in the few small ponds. 

“This place is gorgeous!” Lottie squeals as she comes over with Gemma to hug Harry and Louis as everyone is settling in. “I want to get married here. So glad you guys didn’t, like, elope. I’d have to do a lot more googling for my venue, in that case.”

Harry laughs. “We did consider, at one point.” 

“Also considered somewhere up North.” 

“But it was pretty obvious quite soon that no point in getting married anywhere else but in London, this is where we live.” 

“And love,” Lottie sighs and looks at them, batting her lashes, causing Louis and Harry to laugh and Louis to pull Harry to a close embrace, kissing his temple. 

Gemma makes a gagging sound. “You guys sicken me. But you’re also my goals. Even if you’re disgusting. But I do love you. I’m puzzled, now, I need wine.” She takes Lottie by her hand and leads her to the plentiful bar. 

“This seems like an excellent party,” Louis nods approvingly as he clinks his champagne flute to Harry’s when they’re seated down. “Possibly my favourite party ever.” 

Harry looks around, sipping is champagne – which they actually splurged on embarrassingly, having had a long weekend in France for the sole purpose of finding the perfect champagne for their wedding. He lets his eyes roam the room, round tables with yellow and pink flower arrangements on them – mostly of wildflowers, looking a free and wild and happy and a bit all over the place, much like Harry himself feels. He watches happily as people are mingling and gigging loudly, the usual suspects of his and Louis’ families already clearly plotting things. Niall and Liam are looking like they’re about to pass out from nerves as they’re huddled up in the corner next to the piano. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen them as speechless,” Louis leans to whisper to Harry, “as they were when we asked them.” 

“Hmm,” Harry agrees as he takes another sip of his drink. He remembers how he and Louis had been going through old pictures, laughing at the footwear they’d had as kids and apparently always bought the same stuff in pairs, when they’d come across pics from the festival trip to Leeds. They’d been considering a few songs for a wedding song, but that moment had definitely cemented _Sweet Disposition_ to be the absolute right choice – and then having the idea of asking to Niall and Liam perform it acoustically had truly been one of their better ones. Like, ever. It goes swimmingly, of course; Louis and Harry aren’t the best dancers, but they know how to sway in the same rhythm and get lost in each other by now. Liam and Niall have never sounded better.

They both know that they have, also, written a song for the other, to be performed later – Harry with the piano and Louis with the guitar, after stressed learning for months – but they don’t know that about each other. Harry called his song ‘For my husband’ whilst Louis opted for ‘Dimples’. They decide to never publish them to the public consumption. 

Louis didn’t get his dessert buffet, but they do have a few huge rainbow cakes that Louis is more than happy to push Harry’s face into later, much to the farcical despair of Harry Lambert (who of course did the new suit amendments as well). 

There are a rare few moments during the wedding when Louis and Harry lose each other as they seemed to be glued to holding hands and going around as a duo – but it’s just as well, as both seem to take great joy in grabbing the mic and asking if anyone has seen their husband. 

“Hi, mum,” Harry kisses his mother’s head as he walks to her later in the evening, as she’s standing in front of a row of candid polaroid pictures of Harry and Louis, with silly and cute captions hanging with wooden clothes pegs off a rope running wall to wall loosely on one wall. “Are you having fun?” 

“Most fun, my dear,” Anne smiles radiantly. Harry sees her fumble her hairpiece, designed to look like a bird. She looks around. “I love what you’ve done with the birds, the jays and the robins.” 

“Thanks, Anne,” Louis comes to them and kisses Anne on the cheek. She hugs her tightly. “Really pleased with how much money we seem to have raised, too.” 

They had asked to not receive any wedding gifts, but for each guest to donate what they could to their favourite cancer charity – they had promised to match whatever their guests had raised. 

“You too are such sweethearts,” Anne pats them both on the cheek. “I truly could not be happier for you two. So proud of everything you have ever done, my dears.”

After a night of most fun; of happy tears; of filling the air with love and joy, music and laughter, glasses clinking and whistles, the husbands fall to the gorgeous bed in the wedding suite. 

“Perfect wedding,” Louis holds his fist up for Harry to bump. 

“So perfect,” Harry bumps Louis’ fist. “Thanks for, you know.” 

“Everything?” Louis yawns. 

Harry chuckles. “Yeah, that. And also for like, not going through with the first wedding. For knowing me and always, just, loving me so much.” 

Louis laces their fingers, the ones with their wedding rings (minimalistic, one green and one blue stone, with the engraving ‘You make me fly’ on both of them) together. 

“Anytime, babe. Every time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for reading! I truly hope you enjoyed it. 
> 
> I'd prefer kudos and comments over proposals x


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